


addled affection

by bicboy



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Ambiguous Age, Choking, Creampie, Dubious Consent, Kissing, M/M, Narcissism, Power Imbalance, Rick's POV, Self-Hatred, needy bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 01:40:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29235441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bicboy/pseuds/bicboy
Summary: he watched morty barely recover, aching upwards, eyes washed over, glazed with something rick refused to consider as fondness.he wished it was contempt.
Relationships: Rick Sanchez/Morty Smith
Comments: 1
Kudos: 32





	addled affection

**Author's Note:**

> i like the idea of rick being way too conflicted about everything he feels

manipulative bastard.

the smell of chemical and alcohol suffocates the cramped space adjacent to the back seat, the ship floor solid under knee and elbow. solid. a rock. which made rick the hard place, poor morty sandwiched between the two. rick supposed it was fitting. he gave the kid no choice. inescapable, looming. a black hole. torture. 

the kid didn’t seem to mind too much, panting and squirming and perennially begging for more, there between his rock and his torture. nowhere to go but to contort under rick’s severe touch. it’s all he can do is touch, hands smoothing deftly over doughy soft skin, molding its youth. poisoning every inch. morty lets out a noise rick knows he was trying to hold back. rewarded with a pinch which draws out another, better noise. rick’s head spins as he lets morty slam their mouths together, likely a desperate attempt to shut himself up. 

making him see stars.

annoying.

it wasn’t fair to punish the kid for stirring feelings in him, something neither of them could ever hope to control, yet rick felt inclined to. honestly, if anyone was going to teach anyone a thing or two about feelings and how deeply they rot, rick be damned were he not the teacher. curling slender fingers around morty’s thin neck he steals his breath, explores his mouth, rocks his petite, insignificant world. rick singlehandedly catches his hips as they rocket upwards, pulling him firmly flush ass to lap without losing a beat, without softening his throttle. 

when morty exhales hard past rick’s grip and lips, the old man eases up and heaves onto his haunches, refusing to break contact but only claiming a tether. no longer stealing. his fingers twitch hungrily at morty’s throat as he stares down at him. eyes hooded and brow furrowed slightly, he watched morty barely recover, aching upwards, eyes washed over, glazed with something rick refused to consider as fondness. 

he wished it was contempt.

_hate me._

a fool not to.

hand finally roaming, moving to the fool's jaw, tracing a thumb over wet bottom lip before hooking it behind his teeth, rick wonders what he might look like from so far beneath. what morty might think of him. conceited, selfish loathsome thoughts wrangle his deafeningly sober brain. from below morty would only see 

_piece of shit_

his grandfather dimly lit by far away suns and the dashlight and the endless abyssal galaxy above and beyond and below and within. drunk on the power in realizing that this was just right, this was morty’s universe, only them. only lonely with each other, derealized by infinite realisms nearly untouchable. at least consequently they were untouchable. he was untouchable. morty was...

rick’s stomach twists. 

he glowers. 

_he_ could touch morty.

wordlessly rick’s hands resume roaming, taking every bit he can take, smothering morty’s lips again, rolling a fat tongue over teeth as he searches with flat palms. a hand under yellow fabric, pushing it up in the same motion with which his other hand works off blue jeans. the way morty moves and vocalizes, drawling and methodical. finetuned to rick’s destruction. infuriating. he groans, hating himself for how he inadvertently matches morty’s neediness, abhoring the way it all goes straight through him like liquid nitrogen coursing veins.

he just wasn’t dramatic about it. 

as rick works morty over the edge in preparation for the rest, he denies any ways he might feel about the subtlety in slender hips whining or the warmth to his knuckles pulling him in. morty muffles himself into his hands, eyebrows knotted and shoulders trembling. there’s a weight dropping like hot fire in rick's core and guttural, grateful noises betraying him. a drive he has no control over. power slips through his fingers like sand and finally he lets into it, the voice in the back of his mind whispering harmful slurs drowning static behind morty’s breathy encouragements, pitiful nothings. desperate pules. intoxicating. 

dizzy.

like magnets attracting despite themselves, morty’s needy fingers at rick’s lapel draw him in as the old man invades him with a sickeningly wet shlick. the voice was beginning to creep again, muttering about how he broke boundaries, crossed lines. it was quickly cast aside by morty moanlaughing, giddy and moving and reciprocating completely unprovoked. rick melted and let himself melt knowing he would berate himself for it later, but he deemed it worthy enough as morty wrapped shaking, spindly arms around rick’s neck and demanded wordlessly with his mouth to be suffocated. who was rick to disoblige?

in a moment of weakness, of foggy disillusionment, drunk on morty’s overwhelmingly generous devotion to compliance, rick affectionately covers morty’s face in gentle if however placid kisses when he loses his breath and needs to instead pant and whine obnoxiously. loud and untamed morty collapses into orgasm. greedily he moves with rick and returns to his mouth, aware and accepting of how rick slows to milk it somewhat mockingly. 

rick lets out a blubbering laugh to quiet the violent voice threatening to scratch at the back of his scalp. 

“good boy,” he murmurs maw to mouth.

morty responds in a way that rewards rick with his own, shameless and _sick sick sick_ thoughtless enough to empty his burdens inside, burying himself to the hilt so that he can feel the way morty’s thighs groan to accommodate the unnatural intrusion. how he twitches, wet and sloppy, trapped between their abdomens.

unnatural.

a cosmic joke.

morty doesn’t seem to mind. in fact, rick assumes he might harbor a perverse affinity for it judging by the way he rolls his pelvis, twisting his hips slightly to _sick sick sick_ take his turn in milking the other. rick’s hand threatens to still the heinous act but instead only sweeps over morty’s thigh, hip, waist. he guides the long strokes morty manages beneath him, listening intently to the way he mumbles saccharine into rick’s ear, throat, shoulder, chest. rick slowly rises, finally pressing morty down into the floor with a flat hand to his center against much protest. separation in these moments was. necessary.

_selfish_

disentangling, rick pushes it out of his mind, ignoring how morty sits up in a daze behind him, a goofy daydreamy look glued to his face, post orgasm and high on sentiment. rick glances towards him as he pulls himself back together but refuses to be caught doing so. he opens his mouth to say something shitty but the voice in the back of his mind reminds him how insufferably predictable that would be of _an asshole_ him, so instead he only suggests they have places to be as he starts away.

morty catches rick’s hand and his heart chokes the life out of him with a rebellious, exasperated flutter as the kid brings taut knuckles to bruised wet lips. his lips move there and rick strains to hear what he might be saying, staring wide eyed and slack jawed. he barely catches 

_"outta this world,”_

and he fucking loses it. red faced and torn between adrenaline and afterglow and _sick sick sick_

laughing, rick’s stomach churns. vomit intimidates his esophagus so he belches. chaotic and booming and erratic his body racks in waves. with the hand morty holds he pulls the kid to his knees, both awkwardly postured to fit the suddenly claustrophobic ship. rick isn’t sure if he’s about to pummel his grandson into a bloody pulp or if he’s going to hold him there and devastate his guts with animalistic ferver.

he only kisses his half naked grandson on the forehead and suggests he clean up and put his pants on before slipping behind the wheel.

“flattery gets you everywhere, baby,” he hisses _sick sick_ tenderly _sick sick._

manipulative bastard.

**Author's Note:**

> i might make a version of this that is from morty's pov! maybe lol


End file.
